#92 🗻 The most exquisite example of what NOT TO DO 📞

You be mid forties

A while back my wife Vic and I travelled to Taranaki to see UB40, not because they are a beloved band to us (I can think of exactly one song by the band, the one about wine), but because we were given free tickets to a gig in the west, and that meant a road trip. It wasn’t until we were on the road north of Whanganui, after dropping the kids with their grandparents (they had no desire to see an “old balls” band we could scarcely recall ourselves), that we realised: it had been nigh on 14 years since we went on a trip without children. That’s not a problem, mind. We like our children. It just hadn’t occurred to us until it... occurred.

While we were there: the Taranaki skyscape put on a fantastic show; the fish and chips were pristine; we found a real estate listing for a train carriage in a field by the ocean which just needed “everything renovated inside” and appealed to me for a few hours; we got to check out our dear friend Rose’s cute eatery Rose’s Deli.

But the actual gig fell short of my expectations. There were just too many drugs.

Let me explain. The smoke of the marijuana leaf has always made me feel sick and panicked, to the point that detecting even a trace whiff of the stuff requires me to hustle for the nearest wide open space with clear, cold air. This made for some awkward social situations at university, where practically everyone was smoking, in kitchens, in hallways, in cars. There seemed no space people would not enthusiastically fill with the smoke. When I went to San Francisco with some work colleagues, someone across the bar started smoking and I had to bail immediately, out into the cool evening outside. I didn’t go back and never told them why, and it’s a credit to them – still my colleagues and friends – that they didn’t bat an eyelid or even ask. These are the kind of people you need in your life.